


MIDGARD: The Second Ragnarok

by kingmedjai



Category: MIDGARD - Fandom
Genre: Action, Adventure, Dragons, Fantasy, Gen, Magic, Wars
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-02
Updated: 2015-10-02
Packaged: 2018-04-24 09:21:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4913953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingmedjai/pseuds/kingmedjai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Long time ago, the world of Midgard was ravaged by Azrael, the Cursed Dragon, and his army of Drakes. But with divine intervention by Zen, the Vanir Order was created. For a millenia they have fought but eventually the Vanir won and peace was restored. Many years after the great Ragnarok war, Azrael and the Drakes have been freed from there ethereal prison and returned to wreak havoc upon the lands. Now it is up to a band of heroes to gather all of the kingdoms into one banner to protect there home and destroy the monster once and for all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

In the beginning, there was nothing, nothing but darkness and silence. Everything changed after the birth of our Creators; Zen, the Dragon of Time, and Azrael, the Dragon of Space. These brothers both morphed the universe to what we all know today, and planted the seeds of life on Midgard, one of the nine worlds.

As time passed, the human race has grown from simple nomads to great civilizations. Eventually people became wicked and started abusing the world they live in. This angered Azrael greatly and decided he must punished humanity for it. Zen tried to convince his brother to forgive the humans for their innocence but Azrael ignored him for it is too late to change his mind.

Then, Azrael gathered all the wild creatures of Midgard; he corrupted and transformed them into Drakes, a race of terrible reptilian monsters, forged from fire and stone and waged war against humanity, dubbed as the Ragnarok. The mortals were ravaged by these abominations as they lay waste upon the lands, overwhelming and ruthless. The war continued until finally they neared annihilation.

Zen can no longer stand idly by and answered his peoples' prayers. He came down from heaven and granted the mortals with the gift of magic, eventually forming the order of the Vanir. Men and women of every class, masters of magic and the sword, the Vanir risked everything to change the tide of war to their favor...and succeeded but at a great cost.

It has been millennia since that victory and the common folk flourished but with very few of the order left. Those who once praised them as heroes have doubted and forgotten. Even the Vanir have become lax and reduced themselves into mere mercenaries and noble guards not like the great warriors of old.

But thanks to the Vanir and the gods, Azrael and the Drake threat exist only in stories and legends...until now.


	2. THE FIRST HUNT

Far up north in the harsh, cold lands of Boreas in the heart of the Gray Veil, wide open fields covered by gray snow surrounded by entire forests of leafless pine trees held together by dark, earthen stone. A ring of mountains surround the plains lowly at the center. Within it lies Mt. Elbrus, once an active volcano now it lays dormant, lava enveloped its slopes giving its signature black hue.

At the dark mountain's base resides the Volkung clan, an indigenous tribe who are the remaining ethnic groups of the north governing the south tundra of Boreas. A serene but strict people who welcome travelers from the south, for the southerners know not to mess with them. Great warriors and hunters alike, guarding the way to the Main lands from the threat of Borean wildlife.

The tribe is headed by Lord Riros the Red, a tall man with fiery long ginger hair tied in braids, sitting on a throne made of elk antlers preparing for an old Borean ceremony for his daughter, Lady Meluin. The young lady will participate in what is known as the First Hunt, an ancient tradition among the Volkungar as when a child turns eighteen, he/she will venture into the wilds and hunt for a single but legendary prey. This serves as a rite of passage towards adulthood. If the initiates succeed, they are welcomed back with great praise and become vital members of the tribe, but those who don't were either killed by the wildlife or never to return at all.

Meluin, a headstrong youth, is her father's heir and next in line to govern the tribe. As ironic this might seem, she is not really interested to become the next leader of the clan. She would rather go off hunting or scaling tall mountains than to be involved in politics, but she loves her clan more to be willing to give up her own pleasures to serve the tribe.

"Alright, that seems to be everything..." Meluin said (in an Irish accent) as she stuffs her pack with clothes and food. She stood up and paced around her room as if she is missing something.

"Oh!!" She exclaimed while searching herself to make sure. "Where are me arrows? And I need more meat!"

Then a thin red-haired man entered her room. It was Bran, Meluin's brother.

"Mel! What is taking you so long? Father and the rest of the clan are waiting for you."

"I don't know where me arrows are. I can't hunt without 'em! And I need more meat." Meluin replied. "I made sure I got everythin' ready for today."

"Oh, I took 'em. You don't need 'em anyway."

"WHAT?! Easy for you to say, you used magic during your First Hunt."

"No" Bran smirked. "You don't need 'em because I got ya these." He handed her with a quiver full of unique-looking arrows. Meluin took it and felt a warm sensation in her hands to the quiver and looked back at her brother with a suspicious glare.

"I thought you said I don't need arrows." She growled.

Bran sighed. "I meant you don't need regular arrows. Enchanted these fire arrows meself. I couldn't wait 'til the ceremony so I'll give it to ya now."

"Wow..." Meluin's eyes gleamed as she pulled one out of the quiver.

"Well, we should get goin'" Bran exclaimed as he handed Meluin her bags. "You'll need to go to Master Aodhir for the rest for what you need for the hunt. I'll meet ya at the Crannog."

Meluin nodded and started exiting her lodge and ran towards the tribe smithy. Master Aodhir, a worn but resilient old blacksmith, was busy grinding knife blades and swords on his whetstone wheel and stopped as he saw the little princess racing towards him.

"Top of the mornin', Master!" Meluin greeted the old smith.

"Ah, top of the mornin', milady" Master Aodhir answered with a low, grueling voice.

"So..." Meluin paced around to remind the smith. "Is it done yet?"

Master Aodhir jolted up with confusion. "Done?! What's done? I'm not done! No youngling will ever replace me, milady."

"I meant my equipment, Master." Meluin replied while a drop of sweat trickled down her cheek. Never anger the master again even if it was unintentional. She reminded herself.

"Ah, yes! I remember." Aodhir said rummaging through his shelves. "Here it is your armor." "Thank you, Master." Meluin replied.

"The bloodbark you gave me was a true marvel to work with." Aodhir said with glee as he presented Meluin a bow of extreme elaborate design emitting a reddish hue. "It's yours, milady. As requested, a bow fashioned from bloodbark, may it serve you well."

Meluin was speechless as she received the bow from the smith. "It seems you have everything you need, yes? Now off you go, everyone's waiting for you."

"You're not coming, Master?" Meluin asked.

"Nay, the clan still needs these blades sharpened you see. But don't worry 'bout me, worry 'bout yerself. But I know you don't need to, you're the best shot in this whole tribe." Master Aodhir chuckled. "Good luck to you, child."

"Thank you, Master." Meluin said as she plodded off. "And I will return! No doubt about it!"

Meluin then trudged to the edge of their vast village towards the port, in it the Crannog stands, a huge roundhouse erected above the loch leading to the Winter Wilds. There everyone was waiting for her with her father and brother standing at the entrance to the loch with a canoe beside them.

"Ah, there you are." Lord Riros exclaimed. "Well, I guess we should start with the ritual." As he said these words, he felt a great weight in his chest and great worry can be seen on his face. But Bran reassured to his father that everything will be alright.

As soon as Riros held out his hand, everyone in the crowd fell silent. "Maester Fellian, if you please." An old druid dressed in white robes stepped forward.

"Certainly, milord." Maester Fellian approached the divine shrine and chanted. "We beseech upon the great gods of old, you have provided us with fire and water, peace and war, sun and moon, light and dark...life and death. Every passing day we struggled, you all have been with us in our hours of need. Today we reach out to all of you for your divine interventions. Bless this youth in completing our most sacred ritual. May all of you be her sword and shield against the possible dangers she will face. We rebuke you, oh, great gods of old, receive our pleas and our humble sacrifice."

Then the old druid turned to Bran. "Milord, the hare please." Bran handed him a live hare with four of its legs tied up, still struggling for his life. Maester Fellian placed the hare on a goblet and chanted to the gods once more, as he continued chanting the hare burst into flames until an ashen pile was left on the goblet. The old druid then turned to Meluin and rubbed the ashes on her forehead.

"May your blade be ever sharp, your arrows be true. May the Lord Zen guide you!" Then Maester Fellian paused for a while but continued. "Initiate Meluin, your prey is Yornis the roc that roosts on Mt. Wyche's peak across the loch within Centaur territory. Bring us its beak drenched in its own blood and return to us a child no more but a hero worthy of praise and stories sung by bards in the generations to come. Are you ready, milady?"

"Then so shall it be." Meluin replied.

"You may now say your farewells to the clan in case this is the last." Maester Fellian said in sorrow.

Both Lord Riros and Bran hugged her tightly as they can. "We're going to miss ya, shrimp. Now get out there and give my regards to that feathered bastard." Bran said with a tear in his eye. "Don't worry; I will succeed in the hunt, no doubt about it." Meluin responded with confidence.

"Don't forget to always wear your hood up and aim first before you shoot, ok?" Her father said with a trembling voice.

"I'll be fine, Da." Meluin comforted him.

"If only your mother were here to see you."

"She'll be proud of me. I know, I missed her too. I will pray for her when I reach the cairns on the other side."

"She will like that. Always remember your mother will always be there for you. Now, come back to us a great hunter."

"I promise I will." As Meluin hopped into the canoe with her supplies and rowed across the loch as she waved one last time to her clan.


End file.
